


Ghost Riding The Whip

by PinkGlitterMasturbation



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 05:32:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7495785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGlitterMasturbation/pseuds/PinkGlitterMasturbation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holtz likes taking things apart.  Poor Erin never stood a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just saw Ghostbusters and couldn't stop thinking about Kate McKinnon and her amazing screen presence and chemistry with the others. Even though she didn't say as much as the others, she owned the movie, and I just had to try my hand at writing her. 
> 
> The "E" rating is mostly for the language, though there are sexual thoughts throughout and a short sex scene at the end.

 

 

            Jillian Holtzmann was a _destructrix_. Yes, she was an engineer, and she built things, amazing inventions based on equations that ran circles around the minds of dude scientists who thought they had things like time and space figured out, but what so few people realized was that Holtz only built things so that the destruction she wrought would be more _awesome_. Awesome in the original meaning of the word: knocking an audience to its knees in worshipful silence and (let’s be honest) a bit of abject terror.

 

            The list of things Holtz liked to destroy was so long, it had stopped being a list so much as a novel of things to be conquered. Paranormal apparitions, obviously, were at the top, but music was up there, too. Holtz loved music, loved dancing, and she could break down a beat, could sync her body to the notes in a way that made anyone watching come apart. In the streets of Brooklyn, in the early hours, (on her precious nights off), she could ghost ride the whip like a motherfucker, and if your mom was cool enough to be watching street dancing with a motor vehicle, and she caught sight of Holtz’s sly smile, dimples and all, she might just actually fuck your mother, all sugar and a bit too much spice, up against a dark alley of an abandoned warehouse, and ruin her for sex with anyone else for the rest of her life.

 

            Because, yeah, Holtz could take a nuclear reactor apart, but she excelled in taking _ladies_ apart. And her newest fascination was Erin Gilbert. She wanted to do more than rock the world of the woman who wore the world’s tiniest bowtie, Holtz wanted to find her fault lines, her ley lines (ha, ha, yes, her _lay_ lines, indeed), and discover just the right amount of pressure to make her shiver and moan and expose the raw neediness simmering like lava under that woman’s skin. Erin’s name was on the front page of the novel-list now, right inside the cover, and Holtz didn’t understand the concept of giving up.

 

            Of course, Holtz, despite what others might think based on surface impressions, had an infinite capacity for patience, like all good engineers and scientists. Nothing worked right the first time, so there were hypotheses to test and trials to run. She studied Erin, the oddly delicate and fragile nature of the other scientist’s general being. Erin knew somewhere inside that she was brilliant and capable and deserving of all things good in life, but that solid core had been surrounded with a moat of cancerous self-doubt and the mind-fuckery of being told as a young child that you are either: 1) making shit up and costing us money by sending your pathologically lying ass to therapy, in which case you’d better start telling the fucking truth, _stat_ , or 2) mentally ill as a pre-teen, in which case you are fucked for life, and will cost us even more money.

 

            Thank all the deities (not that Holtz believed in such things, but, hey, cover all the bases that are belong to us) for Abby. If Abby hadn’t been in Erin’s life, swimming past that moat to shore up the defenses in Erin’s heart and mind fortress with her belief in Erin’s experiences, Holtz wasn’t sure what would have been the outcome, but the Erin before her wouldn’t exist at all, she was sure of that much. Abby was Holtz’s personal goddess for several reasons, but her ability to hold the faith when everything was falling apart was the prime tenant. Since Holtz was at least a category 3 hurricane, having Abby as the eye was important for her day-to-day functioning.  

            So, Holtz watched from behind machinery and shelving and sparks and proton beams, making a mental map of Erin. Erin’s terrain was mountains and valleys, a bipolar landscape. She was either high on the thrill of the hunt or SCIENCE! Or she was dejected by the lack of recognition and outright ridicule, particularly by the scientific community, the one group she’d worked most of her adult life to earn the respect of.   Erin was the same way with her sexuality, awkward as it was. She was either blatantly, if quietly, propositioning Kevin, or running away, a flush on her cheeks that matched her President Garfield hair.  That wasn’t going anywhere, though, because as pretty as Kevin was, Erin could probably literally sit on his dick without the lunk noticing. Sex with Kevin, Holtz decided, would be like trying to use an extremely life-like dildo that kept moving on its own, and not in the way you wanted it to. Fuck that noise. Holtz had plenty of dildos, but none of them could rock lady parts like the genius of her own fingers and tongue.

 

            “Vertical gyrations? Do you want to?” Holtz asked the air around her one evening when it was just her and Erin on the second floor. Even though she’d claimed the whole floor, and filled most of it with her metal, wire, and generally explosive ‘babies,’ when Erin was in the building, she gravitated here, like a magnet, and she’d taken over the white boards along the west wall.

 

            Erin looked up from her calculations, unconsciously tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. Holtz’s heart gave an extra beat. “Dancing, you mean?” she’d gotten rather skilled at decoding Holtz’s speech. “Like at a club?”

 

            Holtz’s grin spread from ear to ear, her dimples at full wattage. “No, like in the street.”

 

            “Okaaaay,” Erin drawled out, her brain clearly running at a million miles, trying to determine how much, if at all, Holtz was joking. “I know it’s a song that is generally, ‘bring people together,’ but,”

 

            “And Bowie!” Holtz interrupted, suddenly seeing herself as Jareth from Labryinth, while Erin rocked a mini-skirt version of Sarah’s frothy white ballgown.

 

            Erin nodded, humoring her friend, “Yes, and it has Bowie, but literally dancing in the street, where there are cars, seems like more thrill seeking than I’m up for, given that all the thrill seeking I am up for is pretty much covered in my day job.”

 

            “Do you trust me?” Holtz asked, the calm of her voice offset by her smile, which would have been right at home on the Joker’s chalk white face.

 

            “Aahhh,” Erin laughed uneasily. “With my life? Sure. With my extracurricular activities? Not so sure.”

 

            Holtz came out from behind her machines, crossing to be closer to Erin than she’d ever been when they hadn’t been shoulder-to-shoulder, firing proton beams. Like a blonde version of the Cheshire cat, she rested her head on Erin’s shoulder, grinning up at her, the Alice she wanted so desperately to pull down into Wonderland. “Come on, Erin, I’ll always have your back well-stocked with weapons.”

 

            Laughing, Erin rolled her eyes, but Holtz knew she’d won the first round.

 

 

-oOo0oOo-

 

 

            Holtz hadn’t simply shifted the car into neutral. She never did. The old maroon Honda she’d borrowed from a fellow engineer had been easy to modify. While Erin and the other spectators stood along the quiet strip of road along old factories that hadn’t seen regular traffic since the late 90s, Holtz found the sweet spot in the transmission she’d tinkered with, sliding it into something that was more powerful than neutral, but not quite drive. The car glided along, and Holtz came out the window, her shoulders and arms and hips almost alien in their movements, joints and limbs transcending human range in their revolutions. She was on the car, then beside the car, moving at some strange yet beautiful fusion of running and dancing, the equally modified speakers booming, “ _You can see me by the way that I feel/Touch my body/Kill the lights tonight_.”

 

            When she had finished, her body warm and limber and buzzing with the adrenaline of diving back through the window of the Honda at the last minute like a fucking boss and throwing up the parking brake to prevent the vehicle from crashing into a brick wall with only a foot to spare, she bowed to the heavy applause and scattered whoops of appreciation. She only had eyes for Erin, though, whose pretty mouth was agape in a perfect “Oh.”

 

            She sauntered over, a slinky, predatory motion that was more large cat than woman. Erin clearly noticed this, because she noticeably swallowed.

 

            “So…when you said dancing with cars, that was…a real thing,” Erin murmured.

 

            “Yep,” Holtz gave her a wide, lazy smile, though she knew her gaze was simply ravenous. She wanted Erin so badly right now, it ached. “Hungry?”

 

            “For food?” Erin said, the words escaping unintentionally, if the immediate look of shock on her face was any indication. She swallowed again.

 

            Holtz knew when to press her advantage. “For anything you want, Erin,” her voice had dropped to a low sound, a sexy purr.

 

            “Hahaha,” Erin’s laughter was a machine-gun staccato burst of nerves, scattering over Holtz’s skin.

 

            Without another word, Holtz took Erin’s hand, grasping those small, slender fingers, tinged with the cool of the night air in her own larger, hotter palm, closing over her digits with a firm grip. She led her to the car, opened the passenger side, waited for Erin to slide in, then shut the door and crossed to the driver’s side, peeling out like fucking Doc from _Back to the Future_. They were silent, though Erin’s nervous breathing was just this side of audible. Unable to help herself (and not really wanting to), Holtz moved her hand from the gearshift to Erin’s pale knee, which had been revealed by the way her skirt rode up a bit when she sat down.

 

            Erin’s breath hitched, and in her peripheral vision, Holtz saw her bite her lower lip.

 

            “Do you know what they call that kind of dancing?” Holtz asked, her voice just as teasing as the small circles she was drawing on Erin’s knee.

 

            “Uh,” Erin’s voice was not quite a gasp as she searched for words. “Reckless? Illegal?”

 

            Holtz laughed, a dismissive, ‘ _silly rabbit, trix are for kids’_ laugh. “They call it ‘ghost riding the whip.’”

 

            “Just can’t get away from ghosts, can you?” Erin smiled, though the curve of her mouth changed as Holtz’s fingertips pressed upward, moving a scant millimeter, but perceptible nonetheless.

 

            “Or whips,” Holtz added.

 

            Erin gave another nervous laugh, glanced at Holtz’s serious expression, then abruptly swallowed a third time. “Holtz, I…uh….I love your dimples, but…I’m not sure about,”

 

            “Whips aren’t _necessary_ ,” Holtz supplied quickly. “I have horchatta at my place.”

 

            “Who can resist horchata?” Erin allowed, relaxing slightly, though her eyes watched Holtz’s fingers, which hadn’t moved from the space above her knee.

 

 

-oOo0oOo-

 

 

            “Okay, so…” Erin took another sip of the cold, creamy drink topped with cinnamon. “I’m pretty sure this horchata has vodka in it.”

 

            Holtz grinned and nodded. “Whipped cream flavor. Takes it to a whole new level.”

 

            “Is this your invention?” Erin’s eyebrows were high on her forehead, but she still kept drinking.

 

            “Nope. This is all Patty. Woman is a genius at drinks, a divine mixologist. I think she could be a brilliant chemist if she wanted.” Holtz said, her hungry gaze on the way Erin licked her lips between sips.

 

            Erin smiled, unconscious of how that unguarded expression affected Holtz in multiple zones. “I love how we keep discovering new talents in our group. I think between the four of us, we could do anything.”

 

            “Mmm,” Holtz agreed wordlessly, putting down her mostly empty glass. “What is there still to discover about you, Erin? What secrets do you hold?”

 

            “Me?” Erin gestured at herself, rolling her eyes in a self-deprecating fashion. “I’m what I say on the package: Uptight, neurotic, pretty good at physics, awkward…” she trailed off, looking down at her shoes, which were no more sensible than the day Holtz had met her.

 

            Holtz took her glass, and put it aside, her expression stern. “Don’t forget loyal as hell, and upgrade ‘pretty good’ to ‘fucking brilliant, please.”

 

            She slid her hand, still cool and wet from the condensation on the glass, along the long line of Erin’s neck, cupping the back of her head and bringing her face close enough that she could smell the cinnamon on Erin’s lips. “Tell me to stop, Erin,” she whispered. “I blow things apart.”

 

            Erin swallowed a fourth time. Holtz felt the muscles in her neck move under her fingers. “You repair them afterwards, upgrade them, make them stronger,” she whispered back, the cinnamon on her breath floating toward Holtz’s mouth.

 

            Holtz’s other hand went up Erin’s thigh, fingers edging under the cotton of Erin’s sensible panties, which the scientist’s sensitive touch detected as sopping wet. “I want to see you, Erin.”

 

            “I’m right here,” Erin said, a light blush coloring her cheeks as Holtz stroked her through the soaked cotton. “Oh, yes, right there.”

 

            Holtz lowered her lips at the same moment she slipped past Erin’s underwear and slid two fingers inside her. Holtz had the very rare and handy ability to truly multi-task, and she kissed and fingerfucked Erin equally well, pressing with her teeth and tongue along Erin’s jawline just as her thumb rubbed and tapped at Erin’s clit. It was the work of less than five minutes to have Erin screaming out an unintelligible string of sounds, her cunt clenching at Holtz’s hand so hard that a lesser woman might have broken. Holtz rode it out, smiling and kissing Erin through the shockwaves.

 

            Erin rested her head on Holtz’s shoulder, sated and shocked and not quite ready to speak. Holtz knew this, so she simply held her, lowering them to the couch, Erin half on top of her, their legs tangled, gently petting Erin’s hair. Erin was asleep in another five minutes, mumbling about a psychics problem, and ‘Holtz’s whip,’ with a sleepy smile in another ten after that.

 

            Holtz allowed herself a wide smile, a bit of evil scientist in that curvature. Erin’s body collapsed on hers? Erin’s sweet, tart smell on her fingers? Erin murmuring her name in her sleep? Not a bad day’s work. Just wait until she worked in a real whip.

 


	2. Panic and Power Plays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought this story would be a one chapter thing, but then I saw the movie again, and I couldn't stop thinking about this pairing - I love them so hard. So, I added a bit from Erin's POV. There may be a smutty third chapter added later as well.

          

 

             If anyone could simultaneously experience ecstasy and a panic attack, that person was Erin Gilbert. She was locked in Holtz’s bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, which had originally been white tile, but was now covered in sharpie marks of all colors, detailing mathematical formulas and half-finished theories and one mention of marshmallows and Pringles and limes that might have been the beginning of a grocery list.

 

            And a part of Erin found this utterly charming and so Holtz-like that she smiled before she could stop herself. Her body was still tingling and euphoric from the attention she’d received earlier, the kind of attention she hadn’t had in what felt like years. What probably was years.

 

            The other part of her? The part that specialized in avoiding new experiences and anything that might expose her to ridicule or even uncomfortable scrutiny? That part was yelling, “Brace! Brace! Brace!” as it assumed a crash position, folded protectively over her heart.

 

            “What am I doing?” she whispered, her fingers tapping noiselessly on Holtz’s equations. She’d woken up half-covering Holtzmann, her skirt rucked up, Holtz’s hand possessively curled on her hip. And she’d carefully and quietly disentangled herself and run to the bathroom to hyperventilate.

 

            Erin imagined Abby’s look of disgust and disappointment as her friend accused her of breaking Holtz, of ruining their amazing team’s dynamic with a drunken mistake. After all, Abby had told her, in no uncertain terms, that Kevin was off-limits as far as an actual relationship went, which Erin already knew, because, honestly, the man was incapable of most tasks beyond a third grade level, and it felt weird and creepy to even fantasize about him, like lusting after the _Lawnmower Man_ before the intelligence upgrade (which she still did, occasionally, and then castigated herself for afterwards).

 

            Erin was not as clueless as the others thought. Not overtly noticing some things was a defense mechanism, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t quietly catalogued every wink, nudge, and curled smile that Holtz had sent her way. Nor had she failed to recognize how comfortable and content she felt in Holtz’s presence, even when things were crackling with dangerously high voltage or silently killing her with radiation or literally on fire. But, she reasoned, she felt safe and happy and loved with Abby and Patty, too. Like Holtz had said in what was the sweetest, most heartfelt toast Erin had ever heard, they were a family. And now, by acting on impulse, Erin might have just broken her new family.

 

            A vicious argument erupted in Erin’s brain.

 

_Yes, you love Abby and Patty, but you don’t want to get_ naked _with them._

            _But I’m not a lesbian! It’s unfair to Holtz to pretend that I am. I like men! I like_ Kevin, _for Christ’s sake! Holtz is an anomaly, and you shouldn’t sleep with your co-workers! Everyone knows that!_

_Just because you haven’t recognized an attraction to a woman before doesn’t mean you haven’t been. Remember how you adored Gina Lucas in eighth grade? Or what about that girl in that required Women’s Studies class from sophomore year? The one you always stared at from the corner, but never talked to? And let’s be honest, none of your relationships with men, even if you appreciate their bodies, have lasted long._

_That’s not….okay, well, that’s kind of true._

_Truth is a holistic concept, Gilbert. It can’t be ‘kind of’ anything. And the_ truth _is that Kevin is a safety net, a crush that can’t go anywhere. Holtz sets you on fire._

_Holtz sets_ everything _on fire._

_So, let her! Don’t be afraid. You face off against ghosts! What’s one astrophysicist…even if she could literally explode the universe and all its dimensions with the knowledge in her beautiful brain? And don’t fucking forget those fingers…those fingers you just rode like you were on a mechanical bull, that made you come so hard you…._

           

            “Erin?” Holtz’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Are you ok?”

 

            Erin started, flushing at where her thoughts had been, and pondered that question for a long space of about five seconds. Her inner voice shouted, _Don’t be the fucking wimpy ghost girl you were about wanting a girl! Be the badass Ghostbuster you’ve become!_

She stood, barely taking two steps to reach the door in the small space. As she unlocked and opened the door, Erin took a steadying breath. This was a moment that required faith, faith in herself and her ability to know what she wanted, what she needed.

           

            Holtz easily lounged in the frame, the wild wave of her blonde hair catching Erin’s eye as always, pulling her gaze down to those pale blue eyes, which for once were not playful.

 

            “Do you want to leave?” Holtz looked at Erin directly, her face carefully and oddly blank, a sad mannequin made of Holtz’s skin.

 

            The lack of expression on Holtz’s face made Erin’s stomach twist unpleasantly. “No,” she replied softly, closing the tiny distance that had felt like an ocean between them. She took Holtz’s hand and stood in front of her. “I want you.”

 

            Holtz was such a larger-than-life personality that it was difficult for Erin’s brain to register that Holtz was the physically shorter woman, and Erin’s lips naturally fell somewhere around Holtz’s cheekbones, rather than her mouth.   So, she started there, her lips brushing against cheek, eyebrows, eyelids, forehead, and nose, sliding back down to Holtz’s wide, plump lips, which had remained motionless, like the rest of her.

 

            When Erin’s mouth met hers, though, Holtz came back to life with a vengeance, her hands sliding around Erin’s waist and pulling her flush against her own breasts and hips, then smoothly half-dancing, half-dragging Erin out of the room, down the hall and into the bedroom, where she backed the older woman until the bed, which jiggled and undulated…and of course Holtz had a water bed.

 

            Erin hadn’t really taken many breaths during the journey, and when Holtz’s lips let up for a moment, she gasped loudly, mostly to simply take in air, but also in reaction to the fact that Holtz’s hand had slid under the bottom of her shirt, and her thumb was caressing the side of Erin’s lowest rib. Holtz was at least a full degree above normal human body temperature and her hot touch made Erin melt

 

            “You screamed a little earlier,” Holtz breathed, her voice somewhere between a throaty whisper and a playful growl, “and it was lovely,”

 

              “But I think we can do better,” her fingers inched higher, dipping into the soft skin between the ribs.

 

               “More decibels,” now she was tracing hard bone again, moving up Erin’s chest a millimeter at a time. Erin forgot to breathe again.

 

               “And not just sounds,” Holtz bent her head and licked the line of Erin’s throat, from the place where her ear met her neck down to the beginning of her clavicle.

 

                Erin’s whole body shuddered under Holtz’s wide, hot tongue, her cunt throbbing and clenching, her nipples tightening, because, God!yes!fuck! hadn’t she dreamed of that since she’d glanced over her shoulder in the fight of their lives to see Holtz lick her gun? Hadn’t that been the turning moment, that in the midst of literally dealing with death, with an impending fucking legit _apocalypse_ , Erin had wished to be alone and naked with Holtz, and even though the thought had only lasted a few seconds, it had haunted Erin nightly since, a specter she had no way (or desire) to banish.

 

               “Mmmm,” Holtz exhaled against the wet skin she’d left behind and Erin shuddered again, a loud moan accompanying the reaction. “No, not just sounds,” her fingers were moving again, and now she was playing with the lace edging at the bottom of Erin’s bra.

 

              “Wha..what do you want to hear?” Erin didn’t feel very coherent as she rested her head against Holtz’s shoulder. She had a tendency to babble when she was nervous or overwhelmed, and everything about Holtz pushed all her buttons in a wonderfully overwhelming way. Not that she was complaining.

 

              Holtz gave her _that_ grin. That wide, crazy, beautiful, sexy smile that slipped past all Erin’s defenses like a fucking ninja. She straddled her hips and pulled Erin’s shirt over her head, leaving it on her arms, an effective yet gentle restraint. The water bed undulated with every movement, and their hips rocked together. Erin moaned again, and flushed at the neediness in the sound.

 

             “My name.” Holtz smiled even wider, her lips now softly kissing the swell of Erin’s breasts above her lacy bra as her fingers finally breeched the lower defenses of the bra’s underwire. The combination of licking and rubbing and twisting had Erin ready to agree to most anything to get Holtz’s talents just a little further south.

 

             “Holtz,” Erin gasped, throwing all pride far away in search of immediate bliss.

 

              And that blonde devil? She laughed! Laughed! The vibrations of her lips closed around Erin’s nipple and the indignation Erin had been about to express was lost in another sound altogether.  

 

             “Oh, Erin,” Holtz spoke against her areolae, pulling far enough away to make Erin’s nipple harden more against the heat of Holtz’s breath. “Trust me, we’ll both know when you say my name the _right_ way.”

 

            “Uhhhh!” was all Erin managed to reply, because one of Holtz’s hands had found its way between her legs, and was stroking firmly along the delicate skin where her inner thigh met her outer labia. It was sensitive and felt great, but it was also terribly teasing.

 

            Erin began to tug at her shirt, but Holtz had tucked the edges under her head, and it wasn’t easy to move on the damned water bed, especially with Holtz’s hips pushing her down and Holtz’s hands and mouth distracting her.

 

            Holtz’s other hand came up, resting firmly on Erin’s poly-cotton blend-covered wrists.   “Are you feeling a bit frustrated, dear Erin?” She was grinning like a cat in the cream, all lazy self-satisfaction.

 

            For a moment, Erin was quiet, lost in her own insecurities. Was she just a game to Holtz? There was no doubt Holtz was a ladies’ woman, attracting stares everywhere they went. She was the only one of the four of them who had honest-to-God-groupies. Women practically fainted when she winked, for fuck’s sake.

 

            “What is this to you?” Erin whispered, the words out before she could run the probabilities of consequences. “Is this a one-time thing? Do you not want me to touch you back?”

 

            Holtz had been in the process of pushing her fingers into Erin’s cunt – _finally_ – but now she froze, the tips of her science-experiment/engineering calloused fingers curling at the edges of Erin’s entrance, a roughness that rubbed every ridge and made Erin suck in her breath in appreciation.

 

            She pulled back her hand, never breaking eye contact with Erin, shoving her wet fingers into one of the many pockets in her cargo pants. Out came a knife. A knife with a folding blade, but it was not a tiny Swiss Army tool. It was wickedly serrated and spring-loaded and no doubt the very fact Holtz was holding it in the state of New York was breaking as many laws as dancing with moving vehicles.

 

            “Hold still,” Holtz ordered in a commanding tone, the kind she used when she handed out new proton weapons, or ordered them to stand back from one of her experiments that was in danger of imminent explosion. It was a very sexy voice, Erin decided, and she doubted she’d ever see the dangerous lab equipment in the same light.

 

            With a surprisingly light touch and barely a roll of the bed beneath them, Holtz cut through Erin’s shirt, flipped the knife closed, and tossed it on the nightstand. She arched a questioning brow at Erin. “You’re free, Erin. What are you going to do now? What does this mean to _you_?”

 

            Summoning the bravery she usually only tapped into for fighting with ghosts or peer-reviewed publications, Erin brought her hands to Holtz’s shoulders, letting her fingers skim down the length of her arms, then continue down her thighs, digging slightly into the muscle there, sliding inward to the buttons at Holtz’s fly.

 

            Erin unfastened the opening, pushing back at the fabric, which practically fell off Holtz’s hips because she often wore her pants baggy. Holtz’s underwear was a pair of white boy shorts with the periodic table printed out to spell Science Bitch. Unable to stifle her laugh, Erin gave in, reminding herself that Holtz was more than a romantic interest; she was her friend, her partner, and if she had learned anything from her painful mistakes with Abby, it was to be honest about her feelings, doubts and all.

 

            “I don’t know,” Erin confessed. “I don’t know where this will end up, but I don’t want this to be only once. I want to sleep here tonight, after we overload all our endorphin and oxytocin receptors and pass out on this ancient water bed, which I hope, by the way, is not filled with the original fluid from 1983. And I’ll make breakfast, so no smoke alarms go off, and then…we’ll just take it as we go.”

 

            As she spoke, she edged the black elastic waistband of Holtz’s underwear downwards, revealing neatly trimmed hair that was a few shades darker than the pale blonde on Holtz’s head. Erin ran a finger down the center, slipping into the cleft, finding the hard nub, and pressing until Holtz moaned, then circling and tapping to make the moaning continue.

 

            “As we go,” Holtz nodded, her hips moving against Erin’s hand. “But you’re still going to scream my name.”


End file.
